Page 66 of Cross the Line
I look back at Eli.Motherfucker. The corner of his mouth twitches, fighting the smirk twisting his lips.
Oh man, I’m so screwed.
They’ve got me in a visehold between them. A slave to this unrelenting pull. I’m dying when Finley presses a kiss to her shoulder, right above my dinosaur.
I want to kiss her so damn bad my lips burn for it—for her. For the velvet of her skin. The warmth of her sweet taste.
“She’s so goddamn beautiful with you branded on her,” Eli whispers behind his drink. “And she loves it, you know? Having you etched on her.”
The pounding of my pulse makes it impossible to swallow the water brimming in my mouth. A physical need to taste our girl.
Eli releases a long breath and licks his lips. His stare is fixed on Fin. The yearning on his face is so ripe I can smell the overwhelming sweetness. A sickly desperation that flows from him to me.
Is this how it feels when he watches us—Finley and me—together?
My muscles twist around my bones so tightly that it hurts all the way to the core. To the marrow. The bruising rhythm of my pulse pulverizes my insides into liquid want. A longing that steals my breath.
I am nothing but sensation. I ache and ache and ache. Endlessly. Simply watching him pine for her.
It’s a pain I’ve never felt. Like every cell of my being is coming alive for the first time with this all-consuming compulsion to give him what he’s yearning for. What he’s literally hurting for.
Finley.
There’s no way I can sit here any longer, holding myself together while I feel every raw need and emotion blazing in Eli’s blood.
My hands are too fucking desperate to touch Fin for me to hold back. The same way my heart is frantically keening to make him happy.
Pushing to my feet, I edge past Ansel, ignoring every comment and remark thrown at me by the guys as I head straight for mine and Eli’s girl.
“Let’s go,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist and guiding her off the stool while Christina blows a low whistle.
She picks up her martini glass and meanders away with a waggle of her brows.
Finley giggles—a breathless sound that wafts the flames licking at my insides higher. Hotter. “I haven’t finished my drink, Hotshot.”
I have no idea what it is, but I suck down what’s left of the lime-and-mint concoction. “Looks pretty finished to me.”
“Hmm…” Finley grins. “I suppose it does.”
Gripping her hand, I tug her into me. For a beat, my lips hover over hers. The pull is magnetic. An astronomical force that fists my chest.
“Jayden.”
“Let’s. Go.”
Finley turns. Her back skims my front as we beeline for the elevators.
Thank fuck. The doors ping open as we reach them. A couple steps out; we step in.
Finley’s hand tightens in mine as she spins to face me, and I press the button for our floor. Her back hits the mirrored wall. Her front pushes flush against mine.
My dick is so goddamn hard it has a pulse of its own. Screaming to fill her. To have her.
The doors start to close, and I crush my mouth to hers. That first hit of her sweetness lights my taste buds. Mint, lime…
“Have you had alcohol tonight?”
Finley shakes her head.
